Burned
by Crazme11
Summary: This is a sequel to Playing with fire,so if you haven't read it I suggest you do it now


One week. One little week. One week since it happened. One week since I had shamelessly touched and fondled my friend and my object of desire. One week since he gave me that

knowing wink. One week since he left. One week since I heard from him. One week since he took a trip to Egypt. One week since he left without a word, without a goodbye, without any

sort of sign he felt the same. One fucking week. Now, I'm not one to curse or exude impatience, but when the guy you recently bestowed a handjob upon leaves without warning, one

must take this as a bad sign. I mean, would it have killed him to mention it to me! Naturally, Bakura knew. Bakura had known for days. My stupid Yami had known! Did he mention it to

me? NO! Why does it feel as if the world is suddenly turning against me. I mean, just today, I was at the local food mart attempting to purchase some Ben and Jerry's Phish food, which is

my favourite comfort food, and there was none! None! Zero! Absolutely no presence of the ice cream in which I crave so much, possibly even more than sex itself, except sex with Malik,

which is at a triumphant first place and can never be knocked down. A look to my side, provided a little kid, clutching in his hands what one could only assume was the last pint of Phish

food. I nearly tore my hair out at the sight and was quite tempted to sick Bakura on the little kid's behind. That wouldn't be nice, though. Being the usual pushover I am, I simply let the

boy walk away with MY phish food and settled for some cheap, less than adequate brand of chocolate ice cream. It wasn't as tasty, but it did serve the purpose of me pigging out on it

until my depression dwindled down.

Why wouldn't Malik say anything! Not even a little goodbye. What did this all mean? Was he just a jerk?After I said all those nice things about him. After I defended him against

Yugi's rude comments. After I gave him a handjob, which seemed to please him quite a lot. I hate this. I hate not knowing how he feels, what he's thinking, what's going on inside his

head. It's irritating. I sit on my bed, cross-legged, with the pint of ice cream on my lap. Spoonfuls of chocolate are absently being shoved into my mouth as I stare aimlessly at the ground,

wishing I could have one phone call, one letter, or at least one little tiny sign from Malik. Gods, what a yearning to just hear his voice in my ears, feel his skin next to mine, have some sort

of contact from him. I miss him so much that it's eating me inside, tearing up my organs one by one. This urge grows to some sort of monstrous beast, twisting and tangling up in my gut

until physical pain emanates from every limb, pushing me towards the brink of insanity. My eyes are squeezed so tightly, and I could swear tears are brimming on the back of my eyelids,

threatening to cascade down my cheeks.

Bakura always said I was too sensitve, and I try not to be. It's so hard to hold my head up high when there's this growing void inside of me all because Malik isn't around. Is it possible to

want someone this badly? It's not even want...it's need. I need him. When is he coming back? How did I ever live without him? He's like oxygen...it's frigtening to think that his absence

would reduce me to such a pathetic mass of emotions. The window draws my eyes. I wonder what Malik is doing right now? He's probably sitting around, reading and drinking coffee.

Wow, I've never noticed how much coffee he drinks. It seems like everytime I've seen him, he always has a mug in hand, and everytime he comes over, the first thing he does is go

straight to my coffee machine and begins making coffee for himself. He doesn't even bother asking anymore. I find the fact that he's always asking me before he does anything in my

house incredibly adorable. It adds to that shy, coy, human-like aspect of his personality. He asks me to use the bathroom. He asks if he could sit on my couch. He asks if he could read a

magazine, watch t.v., clean my floors, shine my windows, dust my bookshelves. Yeah, he is a little odd. Not many people visit a friend's house and actually volunteer to clean it for them.

I'm not sure whether to be offended or enamoured by that fact. Then again, Malik is special. Very special. I sigh loudly. I wish he were here. I will any more tears away, schooling my face

into a normal expression as I shrug my ice cream off to the desk, letting it melt on my nightstand. I no longer have any desire to eat it. The taste has become bland and empty in my

mouth. It's no fair that I should stay here alone in Domino City-well not completely alone, I have Bakura, but he's off on his own, stealing and terrorizing innocents-but still..I want Malik. I

want him back home where I can somehow at least look at him, even if I can't touch him. Those precious unguarded moments one week ago still remain vivid in my mind. His face

scrunched up in pleasure...it was so beautiful. If only I could see it again.

Depression seems to have worked its way into my thoughts again. How lovely. How fucking lovely. I seem to have obtained my Yami's potty mouth, but I no longer care to maintain some

false image of courtesy when that is far from what I am. Sure, everyone would like to sit back and believe that I am naive and innocent. It's just so expected and easy to swallow. I bet it

would traumatize them if they ever had a window into my thoughts. I'm not speaking of the longing, loving thoughts. I'm talking about the dirty, blood-boiling, heart pounding, give-you-

an-erection-on-sight type of thoughts. I mean, I've had some pretty shocking ones. Mmm..like the one where Malik is strapped to my bed, gagged and blindfolded, and I just torture him

endlessly with a feather, lightly caressing his arousal and watching in morbid fascination as he squirms around, whimpering pathetically. Hm, I seem to have gained my Yami's sadistic side

as well.

All these thoughts do nothing to cure me of this sickness I have, of course that sickness being one you have when you're burdened with some insatiable obsession that just nags at the

corner of your mind slowly driving you insane. I feel like I'm victim to that ancient Chinese torture where they would tie some poor soul to a chair and tip a bucket, dropping a single tear of

water onto that person's forehead until they die from the mental incapacity to put up with such a thing. Yes, I feel exactly like that. Well...maybe not exactly. I'm almost certain that's an

over exagerration, but I think, considering the circumstances, I am entitled to bizarre eccentricities. I miss Malik.

I shake my head out of any more thougths. I've seemingly depressed myself enough. Now, it's time to drown away my sorrows with some soothing herbal tea and perhaps curl up on the

couch and watch anime. That sounds just about right. I stand up from my bed, stretching out my aching limbs and letting out a tired yawn as I start to make my way out of my room and

down the stairs. The steps creek beneath my feet in an almost annoyingly haunting manner. I forget how quiet my house has been since 'he' left. Bakura's nowhere in sight, either, which

leaves me alone with my inner monologue. Joy.

Mentally filed away, my thoughts cease to bother me at this moment. The lust for tea has drawn me to the kitchen without any sort of other desire in mind...excluding the desire for-I'm

just going to stop that right now! Tea first! I push open the kitchen door, grumbling under my breath and heading straight towards the cabinets, throwing them open and searching for my

beloved tea bags. I cannot supress the overjoyed grin on my face as I spot a nice, enticing pack of green tea. Woo hoo! Okay..erm..I've grabbed the tea bags and am searching for the

rest of the materials. I can feel a big smile on my face as my quest progresses. Finally, at least something is going right. Then I growl. My mug is missing! My MUG is missing! Where the

fuck is my mug! Okay..this is a bit random and perhaps frantic, but let me meander for a second to explain the significance of my mug. MY mug has a tiny little kitten on it. It was purchased

white and had been painted especially for me by Malik. Granted, Malik is not the best of artists, but he tried. He made it for me for my 17th birthday. He couldn't quite figure out what else

to get me, and since one of our favourite hobbies together happens to include silently drinking tea/coffee in the kitchen, he got me a mug! The kitten on it was so cute, though! It looked

like a third grader painted it, but it had these big green eyes, and it's fur was a mix of black, grey, and white. I love my mug and- "Are you looking for your mug?"

This voice snaps me out of my thoughts. Yes, it definitely does. This voice is so rich and smooth, and oh so sexy that I can't help but recognize it the moment it reached my ears. A part of

me is drowning in disbelief, another part of me is celebrating and jumping up and down on a metaphysical bed in my brain. I slowly turn around, perhaps adding more unecessary drama

to the situation, and look at what has to be still the greatest wonder of the world. Malik is casually sitting on top of my kitchen counter, one knee curled up to his chest and the other knee

dangling freely. He is happily drinking coffee out of the mug he gave me.

It takes quite an effort for me not to start hyperventilating. I don't know what's more exhilirating. The fact that Malik is in my kitchen, or the fact that he's touching his lips to the same

section of ceramic that I happen to press my own lips to every morning. I nearly squeal at the thought but contain myself so I don't appear insane..more insane. It is at that moment that I

suddenly realize I haven't said anything in about two minutes, and Malik has been staring at me the whole time with those haunting lavender eyes. A shiver runs through my back as our

gazes meet. Those eyes are so intense and focused on me that I can't quite think clearly enough to come up with a descent answer, so..I stammer out, "I...huh?"

He blinks those lavendar eyes of his a few times before lifting an eyebrow in confusion. A small grin is present on his face, however, and I'm wondering how amused he is at my idiocy.

From the looks of it, I say he's quite amused.

"I asked you if you were looking for your mug," he repeats. This time I hear him loud and clear and try to formulate a more acceptable answer than 'I...huh?'. So, I come up with, "Yes."

That's about all I say, and he just holds up my mug for me to see and tosses his head back, pouring the remaining contents down his throat before hopping off the counter to hand it to

me.

"Thanks" I mutter quietly, though I don't really mean it. I'm a tad peeved that he had the audacity to drink out of my mug and hand it to me dirty. Okay, that's a lie. I'm more focused on

the fact that our fingers brushed during the exchange, and that's already enough to get my heart beating wildly.

"I'm sorry" he begins, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at me, dare I say it, a bit bashfully. Am resisting the urge to go 'aww'. "All the other mugs were dirty, and I got extremely

cranky from the plane ride over here. I REALLY needed my coffee before I ended up doing something crazy like summoning my Yami to take them all out! Yes, that sounds promising..." He

now has an insane look on his face. Can't say I'm not freaked out by it. I sometimes forget he was incredibly insane and homicidal just a few months ago. I smile awkwardly and wisely

back away until I am a safe distance from him, though I'd really much rather be pressed up against him with that nice thin, wiry frame and those slim yet muscular arms wrapped around

me. Must stop dirty thoughts before they escalate any further.

"..Anyways," he continues, "I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving to Egypt!" I suddenly blurt out and surprise myself. Why did I just ask that? Where did that come from? Okay, I was upset that he didn't inform

me of his little trip, but I thought the joy of him actually being present in my kitchen and consuming my coffee would over cloud the anger and sadness.

He's blinking again, and now his face has taken on that confused expression where his brows are knit ever so slightly, and his lips are puckered up in thought. "..What are you talking

about, Ryou? I told you I was leaving to Egypt. I told you the day before I left..when I was in the kitchen..drinking coffee with you.."

Now, I'm the one blinking in confusion. I struggle to remember and think for a second that he's probably lying to me to absolve him from his crime. Then again...maybe he did tell me, and I

was too consumed in his extremely sexual coffee-drinking mannerisms to really actually pay attention to anything he might have said. That's probably what happened. A small blush comes

to my face, and all I could reply is, "...oh."

He sighs loudly, and I inwardly cringe because I know he is exasperated with me. This isn't the first time this has happened. A lot of times I get to distracted in watching him that I forget

to actually listen-and HEY! Why hasn't he brought up the whole me groping him in his supposed sleep! When are we going to get to that subject! Second thought..best if we stay off that

subject..for now, anyways.

"Were you really upset that you thought I didn't tell you?" He asks almost looking a bit sad. I hate it when he shows anything vaguely expressing sadness. It just reminds me of all those

images I saw in his head while he and my Yami were dueling Mariku side by side. I remember his soul being forged with mine and Bakura's, and I could peer into his thoughts as if it were

all being laid out for me to see. How could I forget all the destruction, pain, and anger that slept deep within his mind and constantly awoke to remind him of the suffering his family was

supposedly destined for. Those thoughts are enough to give me nightmares. Anyways, Malik looks like such a child when he's sad. I can equate the image to his memories where his

younger form reminded me so much of a tiny, defenseless kitten that had been kicked one too many times.

Once again, I come to the realization that I'm staring at him stupidly, and I haven't said a word in the last few minutes. "..huh?"

"Never mind," he groans, seemingly telling me 'Ryou, you're impossible.'

I shrug and turn my back to place the mug in the sink, rinsing it out, though that little obsessive part of me wants me to keep it dirty with his saliva...I push away that thought and keep

washing it, ignoring the fact that I feel his eyes on me, and I think he might actually be moving towards me. It isn't long before my suspiscions are confirmed, and I can almost feel his

warm breath against my ear, making my knees quiver.

"I missed you, Ryou," he whispers barely audibly. I don't know whether to turn around and face him or not. That would leave us in very close proximity, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to be

in that position with him...then again, I've been dreaming about being in several positions with him since I met him, so why should this be any different?

"Y-you did?" ..Ah, sometimes I sound pathetic, even to my own ears.

"Yes. I couldn't stop thinking about you while I was away."

Wha...? I think all the blood has just left my brain, and my cheeks are burning bright red. Is this really happening? Is it safe to turn around? I stupidly turn around anyways, leaving our

faces inches apart and my back pressed against the counter.

"Um..hey there.." I mutter helplessly, though now he's boring into my eyes with that lavendar gaze, tearing me down to insignificant pieces. I'm screaming at myself to look away, but my

mind keeps saying 'yum', so I just stand there like a deer caught in someone's headlights.

He flashes a soft smile and reaches one smooth, mocha-coloured hand to slide across my cheek, touching it with such delicacy. I still think I'm dreaming, which I pretty much probably am,

but I really hope I don't wake up anytime soon. I try to say something...anything. I don't want to ruin the moment, but this is just too much to bare, and my comfort level has reached an

all time low.

"I..uh.." That's about all I can get out at the moment, and before I have anymore time to react, I feel a warm mouth descend upon mine and whatever I planned to say being deliciously

cut off. I'm not one to complain at all...nope..especially when just about one of the most sensual creatures on this planet is giving me this melting, sense-overriding, make-your-knees-

buckle-and-your-heart-pound type of kiss. Gods, he's kissing me! HE is kissing ME. His mouth is moving gently over mine, and he is KISSING me. I'm pretty sure I'm going to pass out after

a few seconds..it's so hard to breathe. My mind is not working straight, and I vaguely note that my difficulty in breathing probably stems from the fact that he's KISSING me.

Now, his tongue is in my mouth. Yes, it definitely it is. It's worming it's way around, exploring every single cavern and crevice and...gods, he's such a damn good kisser. I feel my body

slipping downwards, and I'm having a very hard time distinguishing between fantasy and reality. All I know is, I have that warm, gooey sensation in the pit of my stomach, and my eyes

have fluttered closed, sealing me away from a deprived reality.

His hands are combing into my hair, fisting in the locks and twining around the strands as he pushes me harder against the counter, changing the kiss from gentle to forceful in mere

seconds. My mind is overthrown by this sudden change in tactics, and I find myself completely disarmed by them. My own hands curl into his shirt, gripping it in need as I feel myself just

about to fall. Falling is not good. Falling is bad...unless he falls on top of me..then it's good. I'm surprised I can even think coherently, considering his tongue has succesfully battled mine

and won complete dominance. I'm just weakly receiving his passionate kiss, too off my guard to really respond properly.

What the fuck is that beeping sound! It's horrible! Make it stop! All around my head, there's this god-awful beeping sound, driving me incredibly insane. What the heck is that! I don't

know what it is, but it's boring into my ear drums. My eyes snap open in a flash.

I really shouldn't have done that. Malik is not here..there is no Malik..there is no kissing, no warm embrace, no talented tongue. Just me..Me in my bed... all alone..with a pint of melted,

cheap imitation ice cream between my legs. Lovely. How fucking lovely! I growl and pull my hair, tears rising to my eyes, making me sniff and cry.

Where's Malik! Why did he have to go! I was enjoying him..here...with me. But he's not! He's nowhere...There's nothing! Nothing but me, and the empty air! Where's Malik..?

I can't hold back the urge to cry anymore. Tears start cascading down my eyes and pooling on my jeans. I don't care anymore. I don't care what happens. I'm sick of being alone. I'm sick

of being without anyone. I'm sick of being obsessed. Is it so hard to say goodbye? Why, Malik, why! Why did you leave without a word! Why..!

I sob brokenly for a few minutes before I feel warm arms wrap around me in a comforting embrace. My Yami holds me quietly, stroking my hair gently and sighing deeply. I don't question

the sudden gentlesness..I never do. All I know is that I really need it right now. I'm sick and tired of crying over you, Malik. I really am.

Was that kiss even real..?

...No..it wasn't.. it was all just a dream..just a sad, sick dream from my lonely, misguided mind..

I hate alarm clocks.

The End! Sorry that was a bit depressing..I was very depressed when I wrote it. Am still a bit depressed. *Sigh* Anyway, good thing about depression is that it gets the creative juices flowing! Woo hoo! So, I have finally written a sequel. Am thinking of a third part to end it all and just make a weird trilogy...but...am not sure. Depends on the response I get. Please, don't flame me! I don't like hurting Ryou either! ^ ^ Thanks for reading


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